


it's become the crux of me

by americandy



Series: fear like you [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Half-Sibling Incest, Incest, M/M, Modern Era, and their relationship, both parties underage though, i just really like this universe, non-specific underage, sansa rags on jon, they're caught by bran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americandy/pseuds/americandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don’t stop after they tell their father. They get comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's become the crux of me

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from The National's ["Demons"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N527oBKIPMcl).

They don’t stop after they tell their father. They get comfortable. Though their father was unflinching in his disapproval, his disgust for the way they carry on – they adjust, and they do just that. Carrying on like they do is incredibly easy when they can spend so much time alone together.

They have always been able to spend so much time alone together. It feels like this has something to do with the reason they are together. You see, when you spend enough time just with one other person, bad ideas can seem like wonderful ones and opinions the world might have kind of fade away into nothing, until it’s just what you have with each other, what you think about each other. Knowing something is wrong and actually acting on that knowledge are two very different things, and they were able to easily slip into the first category, whispering every night about how it w _as_ so wrong, how their kisses shouldn’t have been so electric, so hot, they shouldn’t be touching each other, let alone thinking about it.

Continued discussion about the nature of their relationship -- the way it marks every box on the sick and twisted ballot – only served to deepen the importance of it. It was a very bad thing, but they were doing it anyway, because the draw they felt from each other was too strong. If they had been out of the house more, in sports… maybe they wouldn’t have had the chance to notice they only ever wanted to be with each other. But it’s too late now; fulfillment is hard to find from anything else when Robb and Jon get it from each other in spades.

Their younger siblings are all filtering through school these days, and Ned and Cate never come into their wing of the house. Jon loves the absence and emptiness in their side of the home, it means he and Robb can take things out from behind closed doors, and into the light of day. Being able to kiss in front of the great window in front of the grand staircase, where the sun shines on the chandelier and casts a shower of glimmering refracted light over them both -- like the magic they feel has been made real and physical around them -- is addictive. What if their parents’ home was their home and they could be like this all the time? Jon kisses Robb with an arm thrown around his neck, his other hand creeping down Robb’s back. In the sunlight, when he pulls back, he sees how Robb’s pupils are wide, almost entirely consuming his pale blue irises, as though searching for a way to see in an impossible dark.

Hazily, he remembers a period of biology from school: the topic had been autonomic responses, it was St. Valentine’s Day, and in an effort to keep his students entertained, Jon’s teacher had related the information to the way love affects a human body. When a person feels attraction, their body releases dopamine, which excites the nerve endings in the eyes and makes irises contract. That is to say, makes it look like his or her pupils are expanding.

The sun in Robb’s dark eyes… the fact that he causes this chemical reaction in his brother, something deep inside his brain that is uncontrollable… It makes Jon feel like what they have is only natural.

Robb doesn’t care so much about why, if he thinks about it too hard he gets a sour stomach, feelings of guilt creep up over the back of his neck; it feels a little like being watched. Maybe he is, always, being judged by a higher power he doesn’t believe in for taking so much from his younger half-brother. Jon assures him regularly that he hasn’t had anything taken from him, he’s given it to Robb, but that doesn’t quite feel true.

\---

The first time they’d fallen into bed together, the first time kissing hadn’t been enough, he had asked Jon if he was the first one to touch him like this.

Jon’s chest was heaving when Robb pulled away from his mouth to ask, he tipped his chin up immediately to try to chase his lips, but Robb only leaned back farther. Jon’s eyebrows rose up in the center, a silent “why?” that didn’t need answering. From his new vantage point, Jon could really see the way Robb’s hand looked on his cock instead of just feel it. Robb’s hand slipped and his cock sprang back down against his belly momentarily before he eagerly continued on. Jon forgot Robb’s question, buried his face in Robb’s neck, until he heard it again a second time, quieter. Robb drew his hand back from where it felt heavy around Jon, and that is what prompts Jon to speak.

“Yes”, he’d said hoarsely. Then he said it again and again, because Robb’s hand was on him again, faster than he had been going before, dropping his mouth to Jon’s neck, open and wet with a flash of teeth.

Jon woke up with a mark, low enough that a scarf would be enough to cover it, but he asked Sansa about a make-up cover up anyway. She teased him, asked him if he’d finally found a girl who was looking for “kind of short, dark, and brooding”. If only she knew.

Robb had been the first person to touch Jon like that. He had given Jon his first orgasm by a hand other than his own. Robb was older, not by much, but he was, and he had had some time to collect a few experiences. Jon would never have that… He started with Robb, and he wanted to stay with him.

Robb feels like the lepidopterist who found the rarest butterfly. Being the first person to touch Jon was sealing the lid on the insect, trapped in a jar with alcohol-soaked cotton balls in the bottom. Continuing it, indulging himself… Each time they kissed was another pin in Jon’s metaphorical wings.

\---

In the sun, in front of the great window, they ascend the stairs. Robb’s hand is on Jon’s lower back, and he grabs one of his brother’s wrists with it when they reach the top of the staircase. He turns Jon around to face him and grabs his other wrist. He moves Jon back then with his hips and chest, until Jon hits the wall behind him. A portrait of a long lost relative hangs a little down the hallway which is illuminated still, by the sun on the chandelier. He pins Jon’s hands to the wall and slowly spreads his arms out, and Jon melts against him, pushes his hips away from the wall and hard against Robb’s. He likes seeing Jon like this, all his and no one else’s, his rare butterfly, pinned without any kind of protest.

“What are you doing?” Bran’s voice comes from behind them, suddenly. Jon’s eyes widen and he tries to pull away, but Robb holds him there.

“Because we’re bigger, Jon forgets sometimes that I’m still his older brother. I’m just showing him who’s boss.” With that, his hands are down at his sides and he’s stepping away, turning to face Bran with a mischievous look on his face. There’s a moment when Bran looks from him to Jon -- who’s leaning against the wall still, bewildered and ashamed and trying not to show it -- when it’s unclear how he will react.

Then a smile splits his face, as easy as it does Robb’s, and he laughs loud and clear.

“Oh, Jon, what have you done now? Robbie wouldn’t be this stern without warrant!” Jon runs a hand through his hair and laughs in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own.

“You don’t want to know,” he answers as calm as he can, grinning sheepishly, trying to keep up with the act Robb has put on.

“How are you home right now anyway?” He asks, because this can never happen again; they need to be careful and anticipate things like this should they happen again. If Bran had seen them moments later into whatever they had started… There are some things that can’t be explained away.

Bran looks sheepish then, fidgeting with his shirt, looking down at his feet.

“I’m sick?” It’s more of a question than a statement, and Robb laughs at his expense.

“Bran, don’t worry. Next time, let us know and we’ll take you for a lad’s day. Go see a footie game or something.” Bran looks up from his feet to Robb and sees his smile, returns it immediately.

“Thanks Robbie! Jon, you’d better not do whatever it was again!” He’s off then, down the hallway to his room, and finally it stops feeling as hot as Jon imagines hell to be. They wait and watch him go into his bedroom and close the door behind him.

As soon as they’re alone again, Jon grabs a fistful of Robb’s shirt and shoves him back against the wall he himself had been pressed up on minutes earlier.

“Jesus, Robb, what in living hell? Why didn’t you let me go when you heard him?” With his hand in Robb’s shirt, against his chest, he can feel how fast Robb’s heart is beating now. He’s paler than he usually is, the color gone from his cheeks.

“Wouldn’t it have looked worse if we had jumped apart the second he saw? Wouldn’t it have seemed… Guilty?” His voice is quiet and lacking in its inherent confidence. He doesn’t look Jon in the eyes. He was already responsible for the death of Jon’s innocence; it was a great terror to think he might have been responsible for Bran’s – in a different and inadvertent way.

Jon lets go of him then.

“It would have, oh _god_ , it would have. What are we doing, Robb?” His eyes are on the wall just to the left of Robb’s head. Everything is uneasy in the second when this question hangs in the air, but then Robb’s coming close to him again, and he’s pulling Jon into the deepest hug he knows how to give.

“Love, Jon. Whatever kind of love this is. A curiosity of brotherhood, a horrible flaw, a happy mistake, whatever you want to call it.”

“A curiosity of brotherhood,” Jon mumbles in his ear, repeating the words to himself. “It sounds like we’re magic, or something. Romantic.”

Robb pulls back a little, just enough so he can kiss Jon’s cheek, and then his jaw, and then his mouth.

“Aren’t we? Magic, I mean. We just need to be more cautious. I think it wouldn’t be unfair to say we have gotten… Not careless, but brazen. I wish we had our own sprawling estate to run amok in, to be bold and unabashedly in love inside of, a big bedroom with wood floors and a gigantic bed that always runs cool to balance out the way you run hot… I want so many things for us, Jon.” He had gotten deep inside his own thoughts then, imagining a future for them. He shook himself slightly and saw that Jon’s eyes had welled up with tears.

\---

The last time he’d seen his brother cry was before all of this, long before, when he broke his right arm during his first and last attempt at skateboarding. Robb and the nanny rode with him in the ambulance to the hospital, and tears streamed from his eyes, his body shaking with the pain of the break. Robb had given Jon his hand to hold in his left, and he felt as though his bones would break with the way Jon squeezed it, but he stopped sobbing loudly once he had the point of contact with his half-brother.

\---

The tears waited on his waterlines, the surface tension holding.

“I worry all the time, Robb. I worry all the time that there is no future for us, and I’m so fucking scared. I worry that you won’t want this like I do, or something will happen, or your mum will find out.” A tear finally falls from Jon’s eye and rolls down his cheek, but he wipes it away as fast as he can.

Robb grabs his hands then, holds them inside his own, between their chests.

“Jon, you need to listen to me. As long as you want this, _as long as I’m alive_ , I swear there’s a future for us. It is so scary sometimes, I feel it too – crippling fear – but I also feel like I want to be with you so bad that I’m going to burn up from the inside out.”

He leans down to kiss Jon, and it’s chaste, a press of lips, like a promise or a wax seal on a letter.

They don’t really know what they’re doing, but it is love.


End file.
